Have I met too many people?

Just imagine that when your first dog died, you would get another that had the exact same looks and personality as your first dog. It would be pretty cool, but the gimmick would get boring fast. You wouldn't care about their twentieth death as much as you would care about their first.

Meeting new people became a habit of mine. I'd become friends with someone, have a great friendship for a couple of months, then ultimately forget their name and face. I had become accustomed to being brash in public, because I knew none of these people would ever see me again.

When my new school never offered a good hand, I would go on the internet to meet new people. Apps for meeting people (in a non-romantic setting) were my go-to for when I was bored throughout my high school years. I was surprised to discover that the internet offered the same archetypes as my real life did: the nerdy dude who thinks programming is a personality, the chick who thinks playing the Sims makes her a gamer (if you think it does, consider anyone who has ever made a rubber band slingshot an engineer), Kemberleigh (they/them, BLM, ACAB), etc. It had become tiresome to meet people, because they expected me to find them fascinating. Every now and then, I met a foreigner. I would meet a Filipino and think that I found someone interesting, only to discover that I'm more interested in the Philippines more than I am in the Filipino themselves.

Today, I began to think about whether I had met too many people.

For the past couple weeks or so, I've been talking to some chick one state west of me. We would talk over Snapchat about whatever came into mind; music, culture, whether city life or country life is better, etc. As time went on, she became more and more interested in me. I, on the other hand, only messaged her whenever she messaged me.  I would reply and shoot an occasional question, but I was never invested in the conversation. I was never excited to see a new text from her, I was never ecstatic to see that she sent me another electronic flashbang. She was a total dime, but nothing I'd even think about giving my life for. 

Earlier today, she told me about how excited she gets when I text. I asked for the reason why. She, being coy, said that she wouldn't tell me. She then asked about how I feel when I see that she sent me a text.

So I was honest with her.

She never made my day. She never ruined it, but she was never the reason I got up in the morning. I told her that her presence was barely an emotional positive. Rarely ever did I fight myself to talk to her, but rarely ever did I look forward to. 

I explained to her everything of what I've written above. I explained to her that I think I had "met her" before. I fully expected this midwestern girl to be into Lana del Rey. I fully expected her to know jack shit about computers. When she chose to be explicit with me, I fully expected her to have a bad relationship with her father. Nothing she ever did surprised me. Nothing she ever said flipped a switch in my head and made me realize something I hadn't already. Every conversation I had with her was one I had with someone else two years ago. I understand that I'm no pinnacle of individuality myself, anyone who takes a gander at my profile can see that. But to pretend like she was this rare gem that has gone overlooked for nearly two decades would be a lie. She's a dime, of course, but a dime on the sidewalk. I see these things every day. I don't pick up every single one I see, but if I do, I eventually spend it. 

I chose to be honest with her.

Naturally, she blocked me. Four weeks of casual chatter ended with my decision to be honest, to not lead her on.

Maybe the question I should be asking is, am I the bad guy for being honest?

Maybe the question I should be asking is, is there something wrong with me?

Maybe the question I should be asking is, is there anyone I haven't met yet?